I Drive Your Truck
by FallenAngel218
Summary: Everyone has their way of coping with loss... Tim finds a different way of remembering someone he's lost. WARNING: Major Character Death is implied.


**Notes: **This fic centers around the death of a major character. Death fics have never been my thing, but when I heard _I Drive Your Truck, _by Lee Brice, I was inspired. There's also slight McGiva in this fic.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any NCIS characters or original storylines. Lyrics were borrowed from . I do not own any rights to Lee Brice or his music. I am just creating a fic based on a beautiful song.

_Eighty-nine cents in the ashtray, Half empty bottle of Gatorade, Rollin' on the floorboard…_

The truck was a beat-up piece of junk. It was no surprise that he kept it in the garage. Tim had only seen him drive it when he went to visit Jackson, back home in Stillwater. He wasn't sure what had driven him to come here, to the truck, but he found himself reaching for the door handle.

_That dirty Braves cap on the dash, Dog tags hangin' from the rear view…_

He sank into the seat, like he'd been driving the truck all his life. The keys were in it. To be expected from someone who always left his front door unlocked. Without thinking, Tim slipped the key into the ignition and started up the truck. She purred like a kitten. Unable to resist, he eased her out of the garage and down the driveway. When he got to the street, he pealed out and drove away.

_This thing burns gas like crazy, but that's all right…People got their ways of coping, Oh, and I've got mine…_

Tim drove. He had no destination in mind. He got on the highway leaving DC, and just drove. His cell phone was on the seat next to him, turned to silent. It lit up every now and again. She'd been calling him incessantly, probably frantic that he was missing. He didn't care. It felt good to press down on the accelerator, feeling the speed of the truck from his head to his toes. He drove until there was open country all around him. DC was merely a skyline view behind him.

_I drive your truck, I roll every window down…And I burn up, every road in this town…_

He got off the highway and tore through miles of farmland. After pushing her through about 10 miles of farmland, he hooked a right and took her off-road, tearing through an empty field. He watched the dust fly up around the truck. For reasons he couldn't identify, doing this felt incredibly freeing.

_I find a field, I tear it up, Till all the pain is a cloud of dust…  
_

Just as suddenly as he'd started, he brought the pickup to a stop, right there in the middle of the field. He could feel his body trembling. The emotions he'd worked so hard to hide, finally burst forth. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel and began to sob. He cried for the years he'd spent on Gibbs' team as the proverbial Probie. Gibbs sought to toughen him up the moment they met, and now, over ten years later, he wasn't sure if Gibbs had achieved his goal.

_You'd probably punch my arm right now, If you saw this tear rollin' down my face…Hey, man, I'm tryin' to be tough…_

The afternoon was starting to fade into evening. Tim decided he'd better get back to DC before it got too dark. He looked over at his phone. He had a dozen missed calls. Ziva had been calling him all day. She'd probably kick his ass when he returned, but right now, he didn't care at all. He turned on the truck and made his way across the field to the road, and back toward the highway.

The drive back to DC was silent. He'd tried music, but all that was on the radio was a country station that Gibbs had left on. He couldn't bring himself to change it. He left it on for a while, but turned it off as he hit the city limits.

It didn't take him long to get back into the city. He didn't go straight back to Gibbs' house, though. He found himself driving to the Navy Yard. He parked his car near the _Barry, _and stood on the pier, leaning on the barrier, staring out at the Anacostia.

_I've cussed, I've prayed, I've said goodbye, I've shook my fist and asked God why…These days, when I'm missin' you this much…_

He stayed until the sun dipped low in the horizon. As he turned to leave, he saw her. She was leaning against the driver's door of the truck. She met him halfway as he approached the truck.

"Where have you been! I have been calling you all day!" Ziva said angrily.

"I needed some time alone," he said, staring at his shoes.

"You could not have left a message for me?"

"I'm sorry."

"This is not the first time you have driven this truck, is it?"

"No."

"Why?"

Tim looked up.

"Why what?"

"Why do you drive this truck? Gibbs never mentioned that he owned it, until he left it to you. What significance does this vehicle have?"

"The fact that it was _his _truck. Everything about it is inherently Gibbs… the empty coffee cups and Gatorade bottles on the floor, dog tags hanging from his rearview mirror…" his voice began to crack. "c-country station on the radio…"

Tim trailed off as a tear ran down his cheek. Ziva reached out and wiped it away. Tim could feel himself start trembling again. He'd been doing so well since his breakdown in the field. He'd planned on having his composure back by the time he faced his friends again. It wasn't working. As more tears rolled down his cheeks, he felt Ziva wrap her arms around him tightly. He cried into her shoulder.

"I miss him so much…" he said into her shoulder.

"We all miss him. He meant a lot to us all."

Ziva and Tim stood there until the sun was gone, holding each other. When they finally separated, Ziva kissed him softly on the cheek.

"I would like to ride in the truck."

"You would?" Tim asked.

"Yes. Maybe we can find some good memories of him along the ride."

Tim nodded, and smiled for the first time in three months. He held out a hand, and Ziva slipped her hand into his.

They took the back roads to Gibbs' house. They talked of old cases, of dinner parties she'd hosted in years past, of Holidays past, all of them gathered in Gibbs' living room. They'd all become the surrogate family each of them so desperately needed. Gibbs was the glue that held everyone together.

It was dark when Tim pulled the truck back into the garage. He took a deep breath before he got out, inhaling the lingering smell of old spice and sawdust. He looked out the windshield. Ziva was waiting for him in the driveway. He took the keys from the ignition and hid them in the ash tray, for safe keeping. He slid out of the truck and closed the door gently, knowing he'd be back again to drive her. He stepped out of the garage and pulled the door down. Without another thought, he took Ziva's hand in his, and they walked down the driveway, hand in hand, to his Porsche.

_I hope you don't mind…I drive your truck_

**END**


End file.
